Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • The people for whom I work say that I am a "puppy" but I feel that labels with such heavy associations really pigeonhole our identities. If I must be called something, I prefer my name - Nellie (also acceptable are derivatives such as "Nellie Belly") or to be addressed by my job title, Landscape Artist.

    I believe that my talent lies in my ability to really get close to the earth. I like to feel the dirt, smell the flowers closely, and literally taste the plants at times when I'm working. Sometimes I bury objects in the beds or I incorporate found items such as bones, sticks, or the occasional shoe. Once I stretched the boundaries a bit by adding a sculpture made of my own feces. Its reception was met with disapproval and scorn. I feel it was really misunderstood, but sometimes that's the nature of stretching art boundaries.

    My newest project is an unprecedented landscape performance art piece. It expresses the need for all creatures to really dig deep to find their true self. In my performance, I dig like mad, dirt flying, and then emerge with my nose covered in mud - a symbol that the search for the self is not without its grittier moments. My Girl always says, "No no, Nellie" during my performance, which I take to be symbolic of society's need to repress conscious soul searching. (I also don't think she is as self-actualized as I, sadly). I call this piece simply "Hole."
    • Share

    Connected stories:

About

Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.